Every man has got a Fort. It's sum men's fort to do one thing, and
some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris shiftliss
critters goin' round loose whose fort is not to do nothin'.
Shakspeer rote good plase, but he wouldn't hav succeeded as a
Washington correspondent of a New York daily paper. He lackt the
rekesit fancy and immagginashun.
That's so!
Old George Washington's Fort was not to hev eny public man of the
present day resemble him to eny alarmin extent. Whare bowts can
George's ekal be found? I ask, & boldly answer no whares, or any
whare else.
Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassy-periller. "Goy to the world!
anuther life saived!" (Cotashun from Townsin's advertisement.)
Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under the
boundin billers of the Oshun and then have it Bust.
Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends everything.
Wonder ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze. (Impromptoo goak.)
Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.
My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly
literatoor for the noospapers. That's what's the matter with _me_.
&., &., &. So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.
Twict I've endevered to do things which thay wasn't my Fort. The fust
time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a hole in my
tent & krawld threw. Sez I, "My jentle Sir, go out or I shall fall on
to you putty hevy." Sez he, "Wade in, Old wax figgers," whereupon I
went for him, but he cawt me powerful on the hed & knockt me threw
the tent into a cow pastur. He pursood the attack & flung me into a
mud puddle. As I arose & rung out my drencht garmints I koncluded
fitin wasn't my Fort. He now rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is
rarely seldum that I seek consolation in the Flowin Bole. But in a
certain town in Injianny in the Faul of 18--, my orgin grinder got
sick with the fever & died. I never felt so ashamed in my life, & I
thowt I'd hist in a few swallers of suthin strengthnin. Konsequents
was I histid in so much I didn't zackly know whare bowts I was. I
turned my livin wild beasts of Pray loose into the streets and spilt
all my wax wurks. I then bet I cood play hoss. So I hitched myself to
a Kanawl bote, there bein two other hosses hicht on also, one behind
and another ahead of me. The driver hollerd for us to git up, and we
did. But the hosses bein onused to sich a arrangemunt begun to kick &
squeal and rair up. Konsequents was I was kickt vilently in the
stummuck & back, and presuntly I fownd myself in the Kanawl with the
other hosses, kickin & yellin like a tribe of Cusscaroorus savvijis.
I was rescood & as I was bein carrid to the tavern on a hemlock Bored
I sed in a feeble voise, "Boys, playin hoss isn't my Fort."
_Morul_.--Never don't do nothin which isn't your Fort, for ef you do
you'll find yourself splashin round in the Kanawl, figgeratively
speakin.